


Veil of the Night

by sigurfox



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alliterative Poetry, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12392091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigurfox/pseuds/sigurfox
Summary: Mairon is in anguish after meeting Melkor for the first time in Arda.





	Veil of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Davíð Stefánsson’s poem "Yngismey".

 

Must the looking-glass lie? This reflection’s corrupt.

Here in front of a mirror - a Maia mussed up.

Carven comb crystalline in his unsteady hands.

He will brush out the gales still bound in copper strands.

Woven in wayward mane withered twigs, sapless stems,

And the droplets of dew like immaculate gems.

 

What happened to Mairon? His heart’s in a vice.

For the first time such fears profound entice

With an offer, adrift and bereft of repose -

Damned to dwell on in doubt - he dares not disclose.

For a sorrowful soul must suffer alone,

And in silence should fathom desires unknown.

 

Mairon sits on the bed quickly braiding his hair,

Hush, disheveled emotions, long locks in despair.

Fingers dart like his feelings, fly crossed and uncrossed.

Thoughts of matters arcane - arrows meant to be lost.

 

He recalls now the echo of clamorous call,

And the thrill of the thunderous presences’ wrawl.

With ferocious passion that he’s never seen

The magnificent shape clad in shadows pristine

Wields the world’s widest tunes, casts in chaos the seas,

Sings the dissonant symphonies for devotees.

 

Well, whom could he confide in? Unwind a new woe.

And through hours he threshes as if in a throe.

Maia Mairon lies sleepless, his plait’s coming loose

As he tosses and turns in his musings obtuse.

 

Drills the dimness with idle delirious eyes.

In this merry land how can he walk under skies?

He keeps hearing the Discord in him rearrange.

Sullen snippets of sounds that are splendid and strange.

Schemes and dreams are unfolding like flowers at dawn,

Flames of ambish leap up, oh so dauntlessly drawn.

 

Is he poisoned? Possessed? Is he cursed? Or consumed?

Only darkness conceives the disarray of doomed.

Boils the blood in his veins in dismay and delight,

So he’ll hide for awhile neath the veil of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Smirks the Mighty One ripping the ramparts apart -  
> Wrecked the ward of the pretty perfectionist’s heart.


End file.
